


Rollercoaster ride

by Violetta_Valery



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Dana Scully Angst, Drunk Dana Scully, Drunk Fox Mulder, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, First Time, Foot Massage, Infatuated Fox Mulder, POV Dana Scully, RST, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex, Sharing a Bed, Spooning, UST, Unresolved Sexual Tension, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28123701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetta_Valery/pseuds/Violetta_Valery
Summary: The story is post-S4 ep. 10 “Paper hearts”. Scully just wants to make Mulder feel better after a dreadful case, but has to deal with her own emotional – and physical – demands. Alcohol helps, though. Or maybe not.
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 46





	Rollercoaster ride

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Only related to the episode in question. Tiny mentions of a few others, but not really spoilers. 
> 
> Disclaimers: goes without saying, “The X-Files” characters are not mine. English is not my mother language, so excuse any grammar errors or unimaginative vocabulary. And of course, have fun!
> 
> Don’t be shy, leave your feedback! Ideas and requests for upcoming stories are most welcome!

“Mulder, it's not Samantha... and whoever that little girl really is, we'll find her.”

“How?”

“I don't know... but I do know you… Why don't you go on home and get some sleep?”

Mulder opens the heartiest of smiles and laughs. The irony of it, right? Sleep being the catalyst for a whirlwind of a case, one that would never be reopened if not for his odd, revelatory dreams, and that almost cost his sanity – again – and his badge – again – I can only imagine he will most likely spend the following nights tossed in his couch, sleep-deprived, in the company of the women in not-his collection of tapes. My lonely G-man. Anyway, I play the good partner and advise him of the benefits of rest after these nerve-wracking past few days. 

And aren’t I a good partner? This man drags me to the most unpredictable situations, makes me face the creepiest puzzles, endless post-mortems and road trips. Makes me shoot him, only to nurse him later. Infuriates me with the most preposterous theories, and then muses me with his sheer excitement about them. I don’t know one single person who would cope with this rollercoaster of a man on a daily basis… but then again… the way he says “Okobogee”. The way he recklessly just HAS to lick evidence and kill me with worry later. The way he guides me into a room, touching the low of my back. I mean, how could I even prevent myself from caring about this boyish man, or manly boy, I can’t really tell what he is… Through the years it has all become so familiar, yet so surprising, every single time. 

And right now he surprises me with the way he is holding me, his cheek pressed against my tummy and hands barely in my ass. I can sense there’s not a hint of malice in this gesture – he’s usually very clear in his innuendos – but it doesn’t prevent me from feeling a sudden warmth through my body. It reaches my chest and speeds up my heart. I stroke his hair, that deliciously smooth hair that flows through my fingers like silk and makes me want to live just to caress it, but I quickly step away, collecting my things to call it a day. Too dangerous to linger around a needy Mulder and his hair, I might be tempted to tuck him between my breasts and don’t let go until he suffocates. It hasn’t been five minutes since I left the basement when I hear my phone. “Scully.”

“Scully, it’s me. Have you left already?”

“I just got to the car.”

“Okay, then don’t go. How about pizza and beer? On me today.” And how could I say no to Mulder? I sit in my car and in no time he is knocking on the window. “My place or yours, G-woman?” I sign for him to get his car and we head to his place. It’d be better for him to be at his own apartment, so he wouldn’t have to worry about driving all the way back to Alexandria later on. When he unlocks the door and gallantly walks me in, I find the room as expected: his own organized mayhem. Papers, books and tapes everywhere, basketball marks on the wall, a crumpled afghan on the corner of the couch. I take my coat and shoes off, recline on the couch with the afghan on my lap and fingers twined, and stare at him with a smirk. I’m just trying to lighten up his thoughts.

“Feeling comfortable, Scully? Please make yourself at home, no ceremonies. Your tiny feet may even get a massage later.” 

“Today’s on you, right? Then I won’t move a finger. Feed me!” The smirk turns to a toothy grin. He just laughs at me being silly. “We’ll talk about the massage later.”

“Gladly, partner!” Mulder grabs a beer for us, opens the bottles and we clink them. He orders pizza with every topping you can think of, and when he disappears behind the bedroom door, I get the remote control and turn the TV and VCR on; there’s one of not-his tapes playing, and with a choke, I try to obliterate the fact that the woman being so effusively, vocally pleasured by some anabolized brute onscreen is a fiery, petite redhead. When he hears the loud fake moaning coming from the room he rushes back in sweatpants and an almost ragged t-shirt, and I have beer spilling through my nose. By the look on his face, I’m guessing he doesn’t know if he bursts into laughter, runs to turn off the TV or helps me not to drown in my own undrunk beer. Lucky me, he does the later; he kneels on the floor just in front of me and gently pulls my head down, towards the afghan on my lap. “Geez Scully, breathe!” After a few coughs I turn up to find him looking straight to my eyes, his hand still holding my head, a small hint of worry and a big hint of amusement at the ridiculous situation. 

In a split second we’re laughing like two stupid teenagers; Mulder’s lying on the floor, myself on the couch, feeling my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’ve ruined your blanket, Mulder.” Behind us, the redhead in the video was, assumedly, coming with way too loud and feral screams. “I think this poor woman is going to be severely hoarse by the end of the tape… seems like she’s being murdered, not… well, not…” 

“Not fucked, I know!” there are tears of laughter rolling down his temples as he speaks, still lying down. He reaches for the control in the coffee table and turns the TV off. “I usually watch these on mute.”

“Why do you watch these so much in the first place? There are so many other ways of getting…” Okay, this conversation is going a bit unusual for us. My voice fades for a moment, and I cough again to mask my blushing. We never really talk about our sex lives. Or the lack of a sex life in my case, if I’m going to be honest.

“I know, but I don’t have to think when I’m watching. It’s just a way of tuning off my head for a moment.” 

That last statement sounds kind of blue to me; I couldn’t help staring at his eyes. Before this sudden silence becomes awkward, the doorbell rings and he gets up to get our food. I gather the beer-soaked afghan and make a move to stand up and take it from the couch, but he stops me and takes it from my hands. “Stay where you are Scully, you won’t move a finger today.” 

The pizza is now on the coffee table, along with two more beers. We clink bottles again, grab a slice. “Thank you for being here, G-woman.” And as he says that, his smile is somewhat different. I’ve a feeling we’re not going to watch anything tonight. Instead, Mulder pulls out a random subject and we just chat for the next hours, and I completely lose track of the time, as well as of how many beers we had. At one point I start counting the bottles in the coffee table, and the bottles on the floor, and apparently we killed three six-packs. No wonder we’re laughing like two stupid teenagers again, and that feels so. Freaking. Good. Like slightly-not-so-slightly drunk best friends just talking BS, for an evening we are very regular people with nothing but very regular problems, longings, silly jokes and discussions. 

“You know Scully, what was I really doing?” he’s on the floor, back reclined on the couch, and turns to face me as I stare, lying down on my elbow, like we did what feels like eras ago in Oregon.

“What do you mean, Mulder?”

“I mean, I could’ve screwed things up for real this time.” Oh, there goes the rollercoaster again. “I took a convicted rapist and murderer from jail, I let him escape, and then I shot the bastard at point blank, putting a child in the crossfire. I could’ve caused serious tragedy, lost my badge… and I could’ve put both you and Skinner in a tight spot at the Bureau for it. I let that motherfucker get inside my head so badly, the very same thing I so many times reprimanded you for, most of them unjustifiably… shit, I don’t even know how I still can pronounce ‘reprimanded’ and ‘unjustifiably’ at this hour, after that many beers.” 

“Don’t worry, you did it in-tel-li-gi-b-ly enough. That oral fixation of yours serves you well!” C’mon Mulder, let’s not go to that dark corner again! Stay with me, be silly with me, ignore my unintended innuendo about your oral fixation! Keep forgetting, at least for tonight! “What time is it, anyway?”

“I say we’ve been here for half an hour, my watch says it’s past 1am. Our little grey friends outdid themselves tonight, the time gap is huge…” I look from above and he’s reaching out for my hand. “Hey Scully..? I’m sorry.”

“What for, Mulder?”

“Everything. This mess of a case. Patronizing you in so many occasions. Putting your career and life in danger too often. My obsessions.”

“Shut up, Mulder. Come here.” I pull him by the hand as I sit on the couch and lower his head on my lap. I don’t really know what I’m doing here, but my fingers are inevitably drawn to the silkiness of his hair and begin to move on their own accord. I feel warm and cozy and content, and I really hope he didn’t notice the shiver running through me when he laid his hand on my knee. “I ap-pre-ci-ate you saying it. It’s okay, though. You piss me off, but I like you anyway…” all I want to do right now is lose myself in the heat of Mulder against my legs and hands, but reality calls so I sigh and throw another silly smile at him, getting up a bit tipsy. “I should probably be going, it’s waaaay past my bedtime!”

“Ha, NO WAY you’re driving to Georgetown tonight!” what did he say about patronizing me a moment ago? “Just crash here, I’ll get you something to wear and you leave in the morning. We both had too much to drink.” Before I can even complain he’s gone and then back from his bedroom with a pair of sports shorts and an old t-shirt. He leads me by the low of my back to the bathroom and closes the door behind me, and as I stand there, I don’t really know what’s going on. Apparently I’m staying, there’s no running from it, and I guess we both completely obliterated any idea of me paying a cab home. Judging by how I struggle to change clothes and stand up from the toilet after relieving myself of that huge amount of beer, he’s definitely right not to let me drive. The last drop of water I had in my body must’ve gone with the pee, because I feel the alcohol really hitting now.

I look in the mirror and it seems as if I’ve been swallowed by his t-shirt. I grab the collar and smell it; gosh, it smells less like laundromat softener and more like five o’clock office Mulder; a concoction of cologne and sweat that goes straight to my brain. He couldn’t have given me a recently used t-shirt, could he? In any case, I secretly thank him for it, for I’m surrounded by Mulder’s softness and comfort and it’s the closest thing I can get of having any intimate contact with this man I love. The realization makes me both happy and miserable; it certainly turns me on. I can feel those tingly first drops of moist, and I quickly wipe myself to get rid of them, with a larger hint of sadness. Of longing. I’m rinsing my mouth and washing my face to disguise a few errant tears when he knocks “Are you alright, Scully? Do you need me to hold your hair?” and I just open the door with a wet face, rolling my eyes at him. Better if he thinks I’m annoyed.

“Take the bed, I just changed the sheets for you.”

“Mulder, how come you’re not half as drunk as I am?” I direct myself to his bedroom not looking at him, keeping the annoyed stamp to prevent any silly jokes, given my current inebriated plus aroused plus miserable state. It obviously doesn’t work.

“Well, we had pretty much the same, but you are not even half my size…” he grins, and I try to punch his arm but miss miserably, almost losing balance. He catches me by the shoulders and leads me to bed. “Okay, G-woman, let’s get you cozy.” He waits for me to lie down to cover me with his comforter. He wraps me like a burrito, and I think I’m going to spontaneously combust, engulfed by it, but it feels so fluffy I don’t really care if I burst into flames. He moves towards the door, and I mumble.

“Where are you going?”

“The bathroom, and then the couch.”

“Don’t be silly, Mulder, you lie down here.”

“No, I won’t.”

“We’re both grown-ups, and you need to rest even more than I do. You’re sleeping here. See, I’m not even half your size, you’ll have your space!” Ha! I love it when I convince him with his own arguments. 

In five minutes, he gets back to the bedroom, turns off the lights and lies down, his back to my back and a great deal of distance between us. I hope he’s not all crumpled, but I don’t turn around to see. The idea of being in the same bed as Mulder and not being able to touch him gets to me, and trying to hide the tears in my voice, I whisper him good night. I don’t hear his answer, as I’m carried away to the arms of Morpheus almost instantly and heavy-heartedly.

*****

I wake up all of a sudden, a bit startled, trying not to make a noise. I can’t see the clock on the nightstand, but there’s no light coming from behind the curtains, so I assume it’s still the middle of the night. I can hear Mulder snoring lightly, but most impressively, I can SENSE him snoring. It takes me a while to understand what’s going on. 

Somehow I’m no longer a burrito. The comforter’s on the floor, and Mulder’s practically spooning me, his forehead on the hollow of my neck, and I understand this is why I can sense his snore… his nose is poking my back. As I become more aware of my surroundings, the warm puffs of breath that come from him become alluring… my God, he’s so close to me it’s outrageous. It’s everything I want, and everything I shouldn’t want. This can’t be happening, I keep repeating inside my head. I’m fully awake now, impossibly fiery, and I notice that somehow his hand found its way inside the shorts I’m wearing and is palming the inside of my thigh, his fingers merely an inch from touching my slit through my panties. I’m suddenly so aroused I can’t help but gasp at the feeling of my moist gushing from me, terrified it will drip into Mulder’s fingers. 

I don’t know what to do. I want to cling to that burning sensation till I die right there in Mulder’s bed. I want to get out and hide myself, embarrassed, and never look at him in the face again. I want to wake him up and fuck him senseless. I want so much, but all I can do really is stay still, so he doesn’t awake and realizes he doesn’t want to be near me like that, that he was drunker than he thought he was and had no control of his body. I can feel my panties soaking, and I’m becoming desperate. I need to get Mulder out of there somehow without waking him up, so the only thing I can think of is moving my hips very, very delicately, so his hand will slip away from the dangerous place it is right now. I hold my breath, trying to focus in the movement and not in how horny I am, and move my hips oh-so-lightly, holding back a moan as much as I can. 

My plan miserably backfires, and I hear Mulder mumbling against my back as he awakes. “Scul… Sc… what’s goin… oh, shit! Scully!” he jumps like he’s lying on a frying pan. Suddenly he’s away from me across the bed, and I immediately miss his body on mine. “Oh my God, Scully, I’m so sorry! I don’t even know what to say… I don’t… I would never, in my right mind…”

“Don’t say anything. Please.” my heart’s breaking, and I can’t help but shed a couple of tears. That’s exactly what I feared. “It’s alright, I’ll just go…”

“No, Scully. Stay. Let me speak. Please?” He sits cross-legged in front of me in the bed, offering his hand. I straighten myself and reach out, I can’t really help it. “I would never, I mean NEVER, in my right mind, touch you without knowing from you that you wanted it. I’m not going to pretend I know what just happened, but I won’t blame it on the booze either. And I… I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. I don’t know, maybe my subconscious sent a message, and my conscient body reacted on it. I guess… well, I guess…”

“Mulder, it’s okay. Just shut up.” Mulder, always the verbose of the two of us. I’m secretly glad for it tonight, though. His words gave me the confidence to make the shit hit the fan. “Come here.”

We get closer to each other, still holding hands, and I drag the very same hand that was in my thigh, just moments before, closer to me. I press it against my cheeks, then place a soft kiss on his knuckles. Holding his palm, I kiss each finger, languidly, in slow motion. He’s gasping for air, and I marvel at the realization that he wants this. He wants me. Fox Mulder wants me. “You’d touch me if you knew I wanted it. Right?” he answers with a whispered yes. So I hold on to his fingers and glide them through my shorts until they meet my inner thigh, now slick with my arousal. I drag him a little further, and he can feel the dampness in my panties. Such a delicate touch, so capable of setting me ablaze. I moan as I feel another gush dripping from me, and so does Mulder as I mark the tips of his fingers with my honey, the fabric so soaked it doesn’t hold it any longer. I look him in his eyes, and everything there is devotion and lust; this is the last thing I see before he grabs my neck and lays me in bed for a desperate, sloppy kiss. Tongue, tongue everywhere, on my lips, inside my mouth, on my skin, under my skin, inside my brain, deep in my heart… His other hand now works to remove my shorts and panties, and I’m so taken aback I seem to have forgotten how to move. I feel like a ragdoll under him. “Take me, Mulder. Take me.” is all I can say as we catch our breath between kisses.

He steps back for a moment to take his clothes off, and I’m mesmerized to see him in all his big, hard, bobbing glory. God, he’s going to split me in two… he looks at me looking at him, and gives me a reassuring, loving gaze. Of course he’s going to be gentle. He approaches now to take off my t-shirt and bra, and it’s his time to be star-struck: he touches my breasts as if they were a holy relic, reverently, then kisses and suckles and bites my nipples with all the tenderness in the world. Five more minutes of this torture and I’d come of a sensory overload. His fingers move down and down until they find my curls, and slowly but decidedly slither through my folds; suddenly I’m loud. I’ve fantasized countless times about those fingers, and none of them get even close to the actual feeling of Mulder inside me, playing me like a lyre. The rhythm he sets is gorgeous, there’s not a single nerve left behind; I thrust into his hands, and he speeds up his pace, orchestrating his movements between my clit, folds, opening and my sweet, deepest spot. He throws me over the edge with a single hand and I come hard, jerking my hips and grabbing his neck in an attempt to mold myself into his body, into a perfect fusion. I’m so vocal I surprise us both. Next thing I know he’s bringing his honey-dripping fingers to his mouth and slowly suckling them, staring at me, and that’s the most tantalizing image I’ve ever seen. He offers them to me and I suck them back, still tasting myself on his skin.

For a moment Mulder leaves his place on top of me to reach the drawer in his nightstand and gets a condom. Before he can open it I take it from him. “Let me.” and this is my moment of worship: I stand on my knees to kiss the tip of his cock and smile as it dances towards me, I place the latex carefully and slowly, my hands massaging his length as they go, and finally, I caress his balls and place a gentle kiss on each of them. He becomes as impatient as I do, so he grabs me by the hips and tosses me into the mattress, spreading my legs. I invite him in with one look, and he's now rubbing his dick in my slit, covering it with honey. Then he guides himself to my opening and places just the tip there, making me gasp with anticipation. He goes slowly, torturously slowly; my muscles adapt to his every inch, and he’s so gentle I feel nothing but a lovely, pleasant pressure. Before I know it, he’s inside me completely. He’s mine, completely, I cry in sheer pleasure. He kisses and licks away each tear from my face, and smiles at me. Locking his gaze, he starts to thrust in slow motion, but very assertively, and I can feel every muscle, every nerve, from both of us. It’s really an almost spiritual experience as much as a physical one. I close my eyes, but he cups my cheek and whispers in my ear. “Keep them open, Scully, so we can see us come.” He speeds up, and by now we’re so perfectly fit that I press my hands on his ass to encourage him, so he pumps faster, and harder, and faster, and harder. I can’t take it much longer, my walls are throbbing so wildly I think I can actually chew his cock. As we look at each other, I mean to say “I love you” but my voice fails me. To my surprise, he silently says “I know. I love you, too” with the warmest of smiles, and that’s my demise. A couple of frantic jerks and I come, hard again, loud again, and he follows me. We always follow each other.

We stay entwined for a few moments, our hands run through our faces, placing a lock of hair, wiping a tear or a drop of sweat, but he needs to clean up. He returns from the bathroom with a warm washcloth for me, and sits at the edge of the bed.

“I know we should go to sleep, Scully, but I haven’t forgotten your foot massage.”

“Mulder?”

“Yes?”

“Say ‘Okobogee’ to me.”

“What?”

“Say ‘Okobogee’ to me.”

Mulder leans close to my ear and whispers: “Okobogee”. I laugh the laugh of a happy, satisfied and well-fucked woman, and he kisses my tiny, tiny feet. Just after he begins his ministrations I drift off, not into the arms of Morpheus, but into my Mulder’s.


End file.
